Exit Seraphim
by Demon To Be
Summary: Paranoid schizophrenic Dean Winchester meets his new roommate, whose split personality makes him equal parts Jimmy and Castiel. Dean wants both of them, but Sam warns him that Castiel may not always be around. AU, Dean/Cas
1. Seeing Purple People

Author's Notes: So, here's the thing. In addition "Bitter or Sweet," the only other fic I have on this site (you should check it out if you like Dean/Cas, decent OCs in my humble opinion, or stories that are pretty much guaranteed to turn into their own 'verse) and my original stuff, I'm also working on a Criminal Minds/SPN crossover that starts shortly after Cas turns up in the hospital at the end of season five, completely human. Without giving much away, the Criminal Minds gang shows up for an interview and after talking to him, they believe that Jimmy Novak is just suffering from dissociative identity disorder. While writing that first scene, the idea for this little AU one-shot was born.

In this fic, I imagine Dean to be about nineteen or twenty. I picture him more like a young Jensen than the young Dean from the episode "After School Special" – think first season Dean, but just a couple years younger, like Jake Gray in _Devour, _and you've got a visual. Jimmy/Cas is about sixteen or seventeen. The reason I made him so young is because it's important to the story that his dad has all the control over his treatment.

A quick comment about AUs: To me, an AU isn't a get-out-of-canon-free card, an excuse to do whatever you want with the characters. In this little thing here, I tried to weave as many elements from the show in as I possibly could, and tie everything together with parallels in the show to the best of my ability. Jimmy is the only character to whom I feel I didn't quite do justice, but… my assumption is that the canon Jimmy hasn't had the experiences of the Jimmy I wrote into this story. And if he has, he's had a lot of time to adjust.

**SUMMARY: Institutionalized for over a year, paranoid schizophrenic Dean Winchester meets the new patient, whose split personality makes him equal parts Jimmy and Castiel. Dean wants both of them, but Sam warns him that Castiel may not always be around.**

**CONTAINS: Dean/Cas-Jimmy, mental illnesses – some of which are mentioned quite flippantly, but… it's _Dean_. His smartassery in no way reflects my views of these very real and serious disorders.

* * *

**

_God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:_

_Exit seraphim and Satan's men_

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead_

-"Mad Girl's Love Song," Sylvia Plath

* * *

Dean sat across from Dr. Ellen, leaning back across the sofa with his legs crossed and arms resting comfortably on the arm rests, a playful grin working about his mouth. He could tell that she was fighting amusement herself – he always cracked her up. He continued to half-smile, waiting for her to break first, and gave a mental cheer when she did.

"Okay, Dean," she said, "it looks like neither of us is going to budge on this. Can we just agree to disagree?"

"Sorry, Ellen, no can do."

"Oh yeah, smartass?" she asked amiably. "Why not?"

"Because you just can't compare Led Zeppelin to Creedence. I'm sorry. Apples and oranges, doc."

Dr. Ellen laughed. "Well, Dean, you've officially wasted another hour of our time together, but god help me if I don't look forward to our sessions, kiddo. Although I have my weekly consultation with Dr. Alistair today, and he's gonna kill me if I can't throw him a bone as far as your meds are concerned."

"Hey, he's my pill-pusher, he should be the one figuring it out," muttered Dean. "What happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?"

"Alive and kicking," replied Dr. Ellen. "He doesn't get details, I just relay changes in your mood, Dean. Just like I've been doing for the past year. Dr. Alistair doesn't learn anything specific unless you tell him yourself, you know that. You wanna tell me why you get jumpy every time I mention him?"

"Dude creeps me out," mumbled Dean. "That's all. The way he talks and, y'know, the way he looks at me, like he wants to try me out on all these different happy pills just to see how I react."

"Dean, you know that's not true. Your hallucinations have improved a lot since we started you on the Haldol, haven't they?"

"Yeah," Dean replied reluctantly. "I haven't seen a hellhound in weeks. I hear 'em barking, though."

"Give the meds another little while," said Ellen. "In the meantime, go to dinner, kiddo. See you tomorrow."

"Seeya, doc."

Dean stood up and left Ellen's office, heading down the long, bleak hallway to the day room. Dinner wasn't for about ten minutes, but Chuck usually hunkered down in their table by the window long before anyone else even thought about food, so Dean usually went straight there from Dr. Ellen's office. Poor bastard had probably been there for twenty minutes already.

"Dean!"

Dean turned around to see his kid brother jog up to him. Sam was housed in the pediatrics wing, one of the older kids there, but he always snuck into Dean's hall, whose patients were usually between the ages of eighteen and around thirty, to sneak in a conversation. Dean wrapped an affectionate arm around his shoulders.

"Hey, Sammy. Got used to the cold mashed potatoes yet?"

"No," Sam replied, wrinkling his nose. "And I never will. I still have no idea why they won't let me go home."

"Dude, you almost died in that fire. They just want to make sure you're okay."

"I am okay," sulked Sam, slapping on his bitchface. Dean rolled his eyes fondly.

"I'm sure, Sammy. You're about as okay as I am."

"Dude, I've _never _been as far gone as you."

The brothers shared a laugh as they continued to walk down the hallway, but the sound of footsteps – at least three sets – beyond the door separating the ward from the lobby made Dean pause, holding out an arm to keep Sam from advancing further. He didn't want the kid getting in trouble with the nurses.

"Get gone, Sam, I'll try and swing by later," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. Sam got gone just as the double doors opened to admit two of the staff: Anna, who was all right, and Uriel, who would certainly have given him hell for sneaking out of pediatrics. Between them was a black-haired kid of about medium height, with piercing blue eyes in a face that surveyed his new surroundings quite calmly for someone who had just been thrown into the looney bin. He was dressed pretty damn well, wearing jeans that looked like they had been ironed (_Who irons jeans?_ Dean thought) and a white polo shirt. A pristine white bandage had been wrapped around his right hand, reaching up almost his entire forearm, and Dean raised his eyebrows. So he was suicidal like Tessa, and this wasn't your run of the mill depressed kid who wanted to live just as much as he wanted to die, fucking around with a kitchen knife. For the bandage to nearly reach his elbow, he must have seriously meant business.

"Don't you have somewhere to be, Dean?" asked Uriel coldly.

"As you were, Chuckles. I'm just going to the day room." Dean half-squinted at the kid. Anna was content to just stand beside him to make sure he didn't try to bolt or anything, but Uriel was holding the scrawny bicep of the injured arm, which, to Dean, shouted, _douchebag!_ But the guy's expression didn't change. He just glanced around the hall, at the various doors, at the paintings, at Dean, taking everything in and processing it, but not really reacting to it.

"Go ahead," said Anna. "Castiel, why don't you go with Dean for now? You'll have dinner and then meet your primary therapist, sound good?"

"I suppose," said the kid. The sound of his voice surprised Dean – it was low and gruff, whereas he had expected… well, not that.

"Do you mind, Dean?"

"Anything for you, Anna," he said, grinning. She smiled in return and gave Castiel a gentle nudge in his direction.

"Good, because he's your new roommate. They'll be moving his stuff in during dinner."

"Oh yeah? Could be worse, I guess." Dean turned and kept on his course for the day room, Castiel now at his side. "So, we're roomies, huh? So what's your problem?"

Castiel tilted his head. "I beg your pardon?"

"Dude, seriously? You're in a mental hospital, so what's your problem?" When Castiel didn't reply, Dean pressed, "I'm gonna take a wild guess and say you tried to off yourself."

"What, this?" Castiel held up his bandaged arm. "This was not a suicide attempt."

"Then what the hell was it?"

"I've been told that I suffer from dissociative identity disorder," explained the new kid. "Or… Jimmy does."

"Oh, you're one of those people," said Dean. "I think I met someone like that when I first got here, only she was pregnant and kept screaming every night that her other personality was the baby's father. Her name was like, Julia or something… It was creepy, actually. But what do you believe?"

Castiel tilted his head again, like a confused puppy who took itself extremely seriously. It was pretty cute, for a guy – Dean generally preferred girls, and most of the time when he did find himself attracted to a guy, the one in question was pretty effeminate, but Castiel was not. He was just adorable. Even if he did have a roommate inside his own head. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you said you were _told _you have split personality, so what do you believe?"

Castiel glanced at Dean with his shocking blue eyes. "I don't feel at liberty to say. Jimmy will tell you if he feels comfortable."

"Okay." After about thirteen months in the Hotel California, Dean had learned that the best way to react when someone said something crazy was to just go with it. He pushed open the doors to the day room, leading Castiel inside. The lunch ladies, as everyone called them even though no one that Dean knew of was still in high school, were bustling around behind the counters, getting the food ready. "Yo, Chuck, we got a guest for dinner. Meet my new roommate. Think Tessa's going to mind?"

Chuck peered up from his marble composition book. Besides Sam, of course, he and Tessa were Dean's closest friends in the place. The only person he trusted completely was his brother, but Chuck and Tessa only set him mildly ill at ease on a good day, and he liked them. It totally figured that his closest friends would be a twenty-two-year-old full-blown alcoholic with social anxiety and a clinically depressed hot chick who collected the Death Tarot card from all the decks she could get her perpetually cold fingers on, but Dean wasn't complaining. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but in the outside world, _no one was trustworthy._ Doing something as simple as walking down the street to buy lunch felt like a race through enemy territory, especially if he was having what Dr. Ellen so tactfully dubbed an "off day" and the eyes of the other pedestrians sharing the sidewalk with him turned black and stared as he walked by. Sometimes, and it felt so real that Dean had trouble believing it was just his mind, they would do more than stare, and go after him. It was because of those damn things that he had so many assault charges stacked up against him. But that was outside, and here, it was… well, not _better_, but Dean had been in worse hospitals. The patients were allowed to wear their own clothes instead of hospital scrubs, they were allowed hardcover books and privacy in the bathroom and phone calls without being eavesdropped on and, best of all, there were no demons in here. Dean did get that creepy-crawly feeling from Alistair sometimes, but he only had to see the dick once a week, so he supposed that could have been worse. And as far as nutcases went, Chuck and Tessa were actually a lot of fun.

"No, I don't think she'll mind," said Chuck. "So, who, uh, who are you?"

"My name is Castiel."

"So, is this your first time in a mental hospital?"

"Yes," replied Castiel. Dean frowned.

"Really? So you just showed up recently? Or, wait, are you the original personality?"

That confused head-tilt again. Though, to be fair, Chuck looked just as confused.

"DID," Dean said by way of explanation to his friend, who had closed his composition book by now. "Okay, let me put it this way – if I looked at your birth certificate, what would it say?"

"Oh. James Novak. Jimmy was… here first, I suppose."

"So when'd you show up?"

Castiel was saved the trouble of replying – Dean was really going to have to annoy him if he wanted any answers, it seemed – by the doors opening once again. In came most of the people in the ward, Tessa included. She immediately made for their usual table and sat next to Chuck, across from Dean as usual, looking from Castiel to her friends.

"Hi," she said. "Who's this?"

"Castiel," said he. He looked like he was beginning to get sick of being the object of everyone's curiosity. "I am here because of a split personality."

Tessa blinked. "Oh. Okay. I wasn't going to ask, only assholes like Dean and Chuck _ask."_

"Hey!"

"Oh, shut up, you know it's true." Tessa folded her arms on the table. "If you wanted us to know, you'd tell us in your own time."

"Tessa's big on 'going with the flow,'" explained Dean.

"And Dean's big on being a huge narcissistic prick," she shot back.

"You're unusually sassy today, Tess. They up your meds or something?"

Tessa shook her head. "No, I'm just in a good mood."

"Wow, creepy."

"I know, right?"

Chuck uttered a small laugh. Castiel still looked incredibly deadpan, which wasn't really an issue in itself until Anna came into the room to supervise dinner, the unspoken signal for everyone to get up and fill their plates. He remained sitting while Dean, Tessa, and Chuck stood to grab their food. "Hey," said Dean, snapping his fingers in front of his face. "Cas. Wake up."

Castiel frowned at the nickname, but didn't react otherwise. "What?"

"Food, man. C'mon."

"I'm not hungry."

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "You're not hungry? Maybe you should go sit with Ruby, then."

"Why?" asked Castiel, immediately turning on the defensive.

"Because when she's not playing with knives, she's chowing down on French fries and puking them back up."

"No, that's… not… that's not why," clarified Castiel. "I do not need to eat. Jimmy does."

Dean was by now thoroughly intrigued as Tessa grabbed his elbow, telling him not to harass the new kid before he'd even been here so much as an hour, and led him and Chuck to the food line. Most of the cases here were fairly straightforward, and Dean was pretty damn good at reading people, so he knew when to push Chuck to speak up and when to encourage him to stay quiet, when to rib Tessa about her many suicide attempts and when not to, but with this new kid – or these new kids, Dean wasn't even sure of how to refer to him, or them – it was a whole other ballpark. He was interested.

And his friends could tell.

"You're not gonna turn your smarmy flirtation on him," Tessa warned as the three of them filed into line with trays – all so very high school.

"Why not?"

"Well, for one, there's two of him," she pointed out.

Dean grinned, reaching for a cheeseburger. "Yeah, I know. Built-in threesome."

"_Dean…"_

"C'mon, Tess, gimme a little credit," he said. "I'm not gonna fuck with the guy. Or… guys. Whatever. You're getting your disorders mixed up, paranoid schizophrenic does not equal sociopath."

"Hating on sociopaths?" came a voice from behind him. Dean groaned inwardly.

"Meg, you're looking just as heartless as ever," he said, turning towards the petite blonde.

"And you're looking just as jumpy and broken as ever," she replied casually, leaning to one side. "See any hellhounds lately?"

"Slit any throats lately?" shot back Dean, but at the mention of the hellhounds he shivered involuntarily. Tessa left her tray to Chuck (by now, all three of them knew pretty much by heart what the others ate for each meal, since there was never much variety on the menu) and insinuated herself between Dean and Meg, folding her heavily scarred arms.

"Enough, Meg."

"Does it bother you that you always hide behind Tessa?" Meg asked, completely ignoring her. "You talk so tough and don't deliver, Dean, it's pathetic."

"_Enough_, Meg," said a different voice. Anna stood behind her, looking stern. Meg grumbled something under her breath that Anna pretended not to hear, but backed off otherwise. Smiling kindly, Anna turned to Dean.

"You guys aren't going too hard on Castiel, are you?"

"He's safe with us," replied Dean, only half-mockingly.

"Good. He's really too young to be here, but they ran out of room in pediatrics."

"I thought he looked kinda young," said Tessa. "He's still in high school?"

"Yeah, so try and make him feel welcome, guys, won't you? Especially when Jimmy shows up."

Anna left the Big Three, as Dean was so fond of calling them, once they had promised up the kindness factor around Castiel-and-Jimmy and Meg had sullenly agreed to leave them alone. Trays stocked (Dean grabbed an extra plate of fries under Tessa's disapproving eyes), they went back to the table, where Castiel sat, straight as a statue, gazing ahead at nothing in particular. Dean slid the extra fries in front of him, earning a quizzical glance.

"I told you-"

"Maybe you don't need to eat, but Jimmy does," said Dean firmly. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and say you showed up to protect him, right?"

"How did you-"

"I'm a people person. So if you're protecting Jimmy, that includes feeding him. Take my word for it. I bet you're so shrimpy because you don't eat when you're at the wheel."

Castiel's brows met, but he surveyed the French fries with an evaluating eye. Chuck and Tessa exchanged a smile that Dean had come to recognize as their joint _oh-yeah-this-is-why-we-hang-out-with-him _smile. He appreciated it; he knew that despite Tessa's gentle scolding and Chuck's awkward, stuttering, hesitant reprimands, they thought he was freakin' awesome.

Despite Dean's thoughtful intervention, Castiel insisted that the fries were simply not appetizing and he had no idea why people ate, outside of simple survival. When the dinner hour was up, Uriel came to the table to show Castiel to his therapist's office, and the rest of them went back to their rooms for phone time. In other hospitals Dean had been stuck in, "phone hours" usually meant "standing in line for the pay phone to talk to one of five people you're allowed to call for fifteen minutes," but here, the phones were in the bedrooms and "phone hours" were just a formality, since you could technically use make a call any time you were in your room, so long as it was before ten o'clock. Dean had been institutionalized before, but since this time around it was long-term, Bobby had been kind enough to front the cash to put him in the Haven Center, a private facility, instead of sticking him in the state mental health system to rot. It was only because of Bobby that Dean was in a mental hospital instead of jail like his old man. He really owed Bobby a lot.

He came into his room and wondered who had put Castiel-and-Jimmy's things in it, because they just tossed on their bed helter-skelter. Dean would bet money it had been Uriel. Shrugging it off, he phoned Bobby, but the old man had gone somewhere and Dean left him a short message – I'm doing good, everything's fine, Sam's doing good, got a new roommate, call you tomorrow, hope you're well. That done, Dean settled on his own, unmade bed and read his battered copy of _The Stand _until Castiel came back from therapy, looking quite the opposite of content.

"Hey, Cas," said Dean, dog-earing his page (he had never been to the Lincoln Tunnel, but this particular scene always gave him the creeps). "Everything cool? Who's your shrink?"

"Dr. Alistair," replied Castiel. Dean winced.

"He's a jackass. And kind of a creep, the way he looks at you sometimes… what?" he added, noticing a look of what was almost desperation cross Castiel's face. It looked strange on his features, scribed clearly in his blue eyes.

"U-um…"

Dean did not have to be a therapist to realize that he was no longer speaking to Castiel.


	2. Hey, Rape Sucks

_Wow, you guys seem really into this. Thanks a ton for all the feedback._

**Chapter Two**

Dean took in the sight of the person who was definitely not the guy he had eaten dinner with. Well… next to. The change in expression was startling, but the change in voice, just from that one hesitant syllable, was shocking. The rough, scratchy quality had melted away from Jimmy Novak's boyish, nervous voice. This was more like how Dean had imagined he would sound upon first seeing him.

"Hey, hey, take it easy," he said. "Jimmy?"

Looking up at him apprehensively, the kid nodded, before bringing his eyes back down, averting them from Dean's face.

"Good to meet you, I'm Dean."

"Yeah. Dean. Castiel told me we're roommates." Jimmy looked over at the two duffel bags, milk crate of books, and sheet set tossed carelessly over his bed, and set to organizing them. Dean couldn't hep but notice that he was woefully right-handed, and he kept accidentally grabbing things with his injured hand. The injury must be pretty new, if he hadn't gotten used to going lefty for awhile.

"Hey, you want help with that?" offered Dean. "Your arm looks like it hurts."

"Oh, uh, I got it-"

"At least let me unzip the bags, dude, you can't even move your fingers."

Jimmy reluctantly stood back as Dean opened both bags for him and set the crate on the floor so Jimmy would not have to lift it. Jimmy himself started making his bed.

"So," said Dean, raising his eyebrows when five minutes of silence passed, "Cas told me he'd prefer you to explain your deal instead of him."

"I'd really rather not," murmured Jimmy.

"Ah, c'mon, dude, there's no shame here. We're in a freaking mental hospital. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

Jimmy still looked rather like a frightened rabbit, which told Dean he either suffered from severe anxiety or had a past (and possibly a present) filled with abuse. Or both. "I…"

"Okay, how about this. Promise to tell me before you're discharged and I'll tell you my story now. Like an advance payment. Deal?"

"I… all right, deal," agreed Jimmy. "What's your… diagnosis, I guess?"

"Paranoid schizophrenia with narcissistic personality disorder and religious psychosis," rattled off Dean. "I see demons and hellhounds like, everywhere I go." The way Jimmy flinched at the word "demons" did not escape Dean's notice, but he pretended it had. "Then about a year ago, my kid brother almost died in a fire and I guess we both lost it. He's stuck in pediatrics, actually. And I mean, I practically raised the kid – Dad's basically a con artist and he was always either off performing phony exorcisms or doing some time. Lookin' after Sammy is what I _do._ When he was in the ICU, the demons and hellhounds got so bad my uncle Bobby convinced me to check myself in here."

"Wow," said Jimmy, sounding not sarcastic, but almost appreciative of Dean's plight. "I'm glad your little brother's okay."

"Yeah, me too," replied Dean, with a grin of thanks. "So, throw me a bone at least, huh? Cas said your arm's not fucked up because of a suicide attempt, can you at least tell me how that happened?"

Jimmy glanced down at his bandaged arm and hand. "Um… okay, this is gonna sound crazy-"

"What, _here? _Get real."

That drew out a reluctant smile. "Castiel… _Cas _has apparently been around for awhile. I mean, I kinda knew something was weird – I'd find myself somewhere and have no idea how I got there, or I'd have plans with my friends and then the next day, they'd be mad at me for blowing them off even though I couldn't even remember the last night. But I didn't know… I mean, he talked to me sometimes, but I didn't think he… um, Castiel is my… guardian angel."

Which explained his reaction when Dean mentioned demons. He shook his head. Of course he of all people would have half an angel for a roommate. "So you don't believe it's a split personality?"

"No, I… I guess it… maybe?" Jimmy shrugged, opening the small closet on his side of the room and stacking his clothes in it. "I don't know, to be honest. All I know is that I didn't realize Cas was… another me. I thought he was just a voice in my head. Which I knew was crazy, too, but even so, I sort of took it on his word that he was my guardian angel, so…" Jimmy laughed humorlessly. "I got home late last night from church, it was like ten o'clock, and I was starving, y'know? So I was making spaghetti and meatballs, and when the water started boiling, he told me to put my arm in the pot – to… to prove my faith."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What a dick."

"I dunno, he seemed… really surprised that I got hurt. And besides, if… if it weren't for him, I – I don't know."

"You don't know where you'd be, is that what you were about to say? Some pretty bad shit happened to you and having Cas around lets you deal with it better."

Jimmy looked at him. "How do you know that?"

"I told Cas, I'm a people person. He's around to protect you. I dunno what you need protecting from, but I'm gonna guess it's an abuser, right?"

Jimmy's blue eyes – they were softer and less piercing than Castiel's, but no less pretty for it – fell to the floor and stayed there.

"I am right, aren't I?"

"Two," murmured Jimmy. "One for my whole life and one… within the past few years."

"Is it your mom and your dad?"

Jimmy clenched his fists, forgetting his burned hand, and whimpered in pain, cradling the bandaged fingers in the unhurt ones. "Ow… it… my dad and my priest, okay?"

"Wow," sympathized Dean. "You poor guy. You wanna spill the whole story, now that the cat's outta the bag?" He looked at Jimmy, who had gone very still. "Jimmy?"

The reply did not come from Jimmy. "He trusts you. Or at least, he sees no reason to actively distrust you. I'm glad we agree on that. I believe I trust you as well."

"Dammit, Cas, you guys are like a freakin' tag team."

Ignoring this, Castiel continued, "He does not mind you knowing, but he prefers not to talk about it."

"So I get to hear it from you instead, angel cakes?"

Castiel glared. "Not if you are going to be derisive towards him."

"Relax, I'm not a dick. Not really. So I'm all ears, Cas, seriously." Dean sat cross-legged on his bed, Castiel following suit – though he kept his own legs stiffly together, feet on the floor.

"Jimmy's father has beaten him his entire life, ever since the death of his mother," explained Castiel. Dean nodded; he could relate… sort of. John had never been outright abusive, but Dean could expect a smack every now and then, and from what Bobby said, the whole "life of crime" thing had only started after their mother left. "When his father was transferred for work three years ago, Jimmy confessed the abuse to his new priest, who saw an opportunity in him rather than a boy who needs to be removed from his father's care."

"And you showed up because Jimmy couldn't keep it together with another dude beating the hell out of him, on top of his dad," said Dean.

"Father Raphael did not beat Jimmy," Castiel said in a respectfully lowered voice – though the respect was clearly intended for Jimmy's benefit. Dean immediately understood why Cas had taken such offense at being called angel cakes, and why the mention of Alistair and his creepy, almost leering glances had shocked Jimmy back to the surface.

"The poor guy," Dean said softly – with a touch of disappointment. If Jimmy had been sexually abused for the past three years, it was going to be pretty damn hard to get him _or _his guardian angel into bed. "So you've been around since that started."

"More or less. Jimmy has always… compartmentalized his emotions, but he was beginning to unravel. He would have if I had not come." Castiel looked at his bandaged hand. "I… knew that Jimmy needed to get away. I had him put his hand in the boiling water so he would be hospitalized."

"Wait, you knew he'd get burned?"

"Yes, of course," said Castiel, frowning. "The water was _boiling."_

"Why act now, though? All of the sudden, you realized, 'hey, wow, rape sucks, I better get the guy away'?"

Castiel sighed. The sound was ancient. "Usually, it is Jimmy who takes the abuse and I shield him from the memories and… 'take the wheel,' as you say, when he needs to heal. But one night when we were with Father Raphael… Jimmy is an altar boy, you see, and a member of the choir, and a volunteer Sunday school teacher – he's very involved in the church, so he's there all the time. But last night, Jimmy was weak. He needed to be removed from the situation, so I took over. And fought back."

"Damn," Dean whistled. "What'd you do to him?"

By now, Castiel wore a small smile. "I set his vestment on fire with an altar candle and called him my little bitch."

Dean couldn't help it; he laughed, but it was an admiring laugh. He shook Castiel's shoulder. "Kid, you're awesome, for a little nerdy dude with wings. So what happened next?"

"I ran for the bus and cloaked Jimmy's memories of the night. As far as he knows, nothing out of the ordinary happened."

"So he has no idea he set a priest on fire?"

Castiel fixed him with a blue-eyed stare. "No. And please do not tell him."

Dean breathed in through his teeth. "How's that gonna work when the guy presses charges?"

"He will not. It was self-defense and if he tries, I will push Jimmy aside if I must and see to it that he is put in jail."

Castiel's resolve was so firm that Dean couldn't bring himself to burst his bubble. The truth was, if Cas-and-Jimmy were _lucky,_ this Father Raphael would be moved to a different parish, and that was it. And even so, Jimmy would still be damaged, and Dean had seen enough victim-type personalities to know that if Jimmy ever met another sadistic, abusive bastard in a position to hurt him, it was a done deal. The refusal to make eye contact, the way he hunched as if expecting to be hit at any moment, the apologetic tone of his voice, they all screamed "please feel free to take advantage of me, because I am far too broken to do anything about it." For Jimmy's sake, Dean hoped that Cas did stick around.

Jimmy did not reappear for the rest of the evening; not for the rest of phone hours, not during free time just before bed, where Dean again led him over to Chuck and Tessa and taught him to play poker just as he had taught each of them on their first nights here, and not when free time was over and it was quiet time before lights out. Dean really wasn't shocked; telling your fucked-up life story to some guy you had just met must be strange for other people, though he himself had no problem with it, and so he just went to sleep and allowed Jimmy-and-Cas their space. He hadn't had a roommate in months, since Andy the Druggie was declared sober and discharged, but he didn't sleep any differently when someone else shared the room. Before long, he was out like a light, but it seemed like only minutes later that someone was needling him awake.

"Dean, dammit, you sleep too much."

Dean shifted awake, running a hand over his eyes. "Sammy, what the hell," he mumbled. "It's-" a glance at the clock "-it's one in the morning, dude. You're the only person I know who can get away with sneaking out in the middle of the night – to a completely different wing, no less."

Sam grinned. "Learned all my stealth tricks from you, dumbass. You didn't tell me you were getting a roommate."

"I didn't know until you left."

"So, who is he?" Sam asked, sitting on the side of Dean's bed. Both brothers looked over to Cas-and-Jimmy. He was sleeping with his back turned to them, curled up almost in the fetal position, which made Dean think it had been Jimmy who had fallen asleep and Cas who had taken a backseat after lights-out.

"Uh, his names are Jimmy and Cas," said Dean. "Split personality."

"Huh." Sam looked from Jimmy-and-Cas, back to Dean. "Oh no, Dean, you can't be serious."

"What?" asked Dean defensively.

"You like him."

"Wanting to bang someone is not the same as liking them, Sammy."

"Okay – dude, first of all, there are parts of you I do not need to see or know about, okay? _Ever. _And second, you do like him, Dean, I can tell." Sam gave him the puppy dog face, which Dean cursed mentally; it didn't _always _work, but most of the time, it was foolproof. "And you shouldn't."

"Even if I did, what does it matter?" Dean asked, throwing an arm around Sam's shoulders. "You're always on about how I gotta stop 'being such a manwhore,' as you so kindly put it."

"This isn't what I meant," said Sam. "You know they're gonna try to kill Cas, right?"

Dean's stomach prickled. "The hell are you talking about?"

"You know. You know, Dean."

Dean was about to tell Sam to stop fucking around and just be straight with him, but a tiny whimper came from Jimmy's side of the room and Sam just gave his brother a meaningful look before scampering out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Dean winced at the noise, wondering how the hell he was going to make it all the way back to pediatrics after the noise, and then turned his attention to Jimmy, who had rolled over and was groaning now.

"No," he moaned. "Uhh-! Please, no, please, God, please-"

"Jimmy," said Dean, but it was clear he wouldn't wake up from Dean's voice alone. He stood up and crossed the room to Jimmy's bed, gently taking his shoulder and shaking. "Jimmy!"

Jimmy awoke, sitting bolt upright with a half-scream, but before Dean could so much as react, it was replaced with a look of grim calm. Dean rolled his eyes.

"You couldn't wake him up yourself?"

"When he is dreaming, I can do nothing," replied Castiel. "Thank you for waking him."

"Yeah, no problem." Dean went back to his bed and collapsed on it. They're going to kill Cas, Sam had said. Who? Not the demons, surely? The hellhounds? A rabid-sounding bark snarled out as if in response, and Dean jumped a mile off the bed, but judging by Castiel's questioning glance, the angel-or-other-facet-of-Jimmy's-personality (Dean honestly felt that it didn't matter which Castiel truly was) hadn't heard it. He let out a shaky breath.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine, Cas."

"Who were you talking to?"

Dean shook his head. "Sam. He likes to sneak out of pediatrics and bug me in the middle of the night. Just, uh… go back to sleep. If Jimmy has another nightmare, I'll wake you guys up again."

Castiel gave that unbearably cute head-tilt. "I don't sleep."

"You're kidding me."

"I am not… kidding you. I am incapable of falling asleep."

"You mean you're an insomniac, but Jimmy isn't?"

"No, Dean. I mean I am an angel, and angels do not need to sleep."

Dean nodded, not nearly awake enough to process this. "So the only way Jimmy's getting any sleep tonight is if you back off."

"I can't 'back off' if Jimmy needs to heal. It's no matter. He has nightmares almost every night, but they usually get far worse before they wake him up. Thank you again." Castiel remained sitting up in his bed, back straight as a post.

Dean himself, deciding not to argue, lay back down, hoping that Cas wasn't planning on just sitting there and staring at him all night. That was way creepy.


	3. Almost Hell's Bitch

Author's notes: I realize it's been over three months since I updated and that this is absolutely not an acceptable length for a chapter after such a long period of time. But I need to seriously re-format this story. It's going in a completely different direction from how I pictured it. I'm going to map out roughly what's going to happen, but I'm also writing Bitter or Sweet and trying to do my original stuff, so this story is the one that suffers. But I will finish it – I think abandoning stories is a really rank thing to do.

**Chapter Three**

"So, Dr. Ellen tells me that she's worried about your hallucinations, Dean."

Dean kept his face expressionless as Dr. Alistair opened his file. In sessions with Dr. Ellen, he tended to lounge on her armchair with his legs crossed ankle-over-knee, the ball of one foot pushing on the floor to tilt the chair back; the picture of comfort. With his psychotic psychiatrist, however, he usually sat slightly hunched in the chair with his arms folded across his stomach, both feet firmly on the ground in case he decided that he had to bolt. Dean could never put his finger on what it was about him, but the man was ten kinds of creepy. Maybe it was the way his voice seemed to slither over every syllable, maybe it was the sick delight he seemed to get whenever the hallucinations worsened and he had to fiddle with Dean's medication, maybe it was Meg's insistence that he had misdiagnosed her as a sociopath and in treating her for the disorder actually turned her into one, and maybe it was just the fact that Dean's mind seemed to need someone not to trust, but he dreaded sessions with Alistair like nothing else. Not to mention the fact that when Castiel had come back from their session the previous evening, he had seemed unhappy. Jimmy had surfaced immediately after and Dean got distracted trying to get to know his other roommate, so he still didn't know what had happened to cause it, but the memory only served to deepen Dean's dislike of the man. Which was an impressive feat on its own.

"Does she," he said noncommittally.

Alistair raised his creepy-thin eyebrows. "You wanna tell me why?"

"Not really," he replied shortly. "I told her I still hear barking sometimes, but she told me to wait awhile and the Haldol should fix it."

"If you're still experiencing symptoms, I think we should increase the dosage."

"Dude, I've been on eighty different meds since I checked myself in here." Dean could hear the defensiveness in his own voice and cursed it, because that meant Alistair could hear it too.

"I'm not changing it again, Dean," soothed Alistair in that horribly patronizing way of his. It set him so far on edge it was a wonder he had survived thirteen months with the guy as his psychiatrist. He had no idea how Jimmy-and-Cas were going to deal with having him as their primary therapist. Ellen was the only reason Dean was still _kind of _sane. "I'm just upping the doseage, that's all."

"Yeah well, it still feels different," Dean grumbled.

Alistair surveyed him through his pale eyes. "You have to be more receptive to different methods, you know," he said. "Albert Einstein defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. There are other options you haven't tried yet."

"This is sounding a little too _Cuckoo's Nest _for me, doc," said Dean, immediately masking the surge of fear he felt with flippancy. "You sound like you're talking about electro-shock therapy or lobotomy or something."

Alistair let a small smile seep through his features, as if the thought thrilled him, and then continued, "I'm not suggesting anything of the sort, kiddo. I'm just reminding you to be… open-minded."

"Are we done?"

"Yes," said the psychiatrist. Dean stood up and made a beeline for the door, glancing backwards so quickly that it may have just been an illusion, but he thought he saw Alistair's eyes turn completely white. "We're done."

He shut the door after him and power-walked back down the hall, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his flannel shirt, heart beating as if it had suddenly become too big for his ribcage. Alistair's eyes. Alistair's _white _goddamn eyes, in the one place where Dean hadn't had to deal with demons. And now one had gotten in his fucking psychiatrist – if Alistair hadn't been a demon to begin with. This was bad. This was terrible, actually. Fuck that, this was one step above apocalyptic, for him, anyway.

He racked his brains for a course of action. If he told Ellen, she would utilize the opportunity to have him "confront reality" and power through the fact that _Alistair was an ungodly creature from Hell._ If he told Alistair himself, not that he was anywhere near stupid enough to do so, he would either increase the medication to a near-lethal dose, or just decide to quit playing around and kill him. Who else could he tell? Anna? No, Anna would be legally obligated to let Ellen know. Chuck? Tessa? Jimmy-and-Cas? Dean almost laughed at the thought. They had their own issues to deal with.

"Dean?" asked Sam's voice from behind him. Dean whirled around.

"Sammy, Jesus Christ," he nearly exploded. "Don't sneak up on me like that, I almost took your fucking head off… It's morning, the place is crawling with nurses. How the hell did you get into my wing?"

"I'm just good at it," Sam brushed it off. "Are you okay? You look like you just saw a ghost."

"I did. A demon, actually. Fuck, Sam, don't worry about it, if the sonofabitch wanted to off me I'd already be dead."

"Dean…"

"Anyway, you should get back to pediatrics, Sammy, I don't want them coming down on your ass for sneaking around all the time. 'Specially if Dr. Alistair's a demon."

Sam frowned. "I don't like it there," he said, as if he were a petulant child again and not the smartest damn eleventh-grader Dean had ever met. "I want us out of here, Dean. I don't like being separated. You can't fight them off without me, you know that."

Dean's fear ebbed slightly, eclipsed, as always, by the fierce love he felt for his brother. He pulled Sam into a rough, affectionate hug. "Listen to me, kid. They're gonna get you fixed up and you're gonna go home and I'll follow as soon as I can, all right? You got a future, Sammy, but my kind of crazy doesn't come out with bleach."

Sam didn't answer, sulking at the floor.

"Seriously, you better get out of here. Goddammit if I know how you've been sneaking around for the past year and not getting caught once, but I'd hate to break your streak."

"Dean," interrupted Jimmy's nervous voice.

He was standing in front of the door to the nurses' station, twisting the hem of his V-neck t-shirt. Dean turned back to his brother to say goodbye, but Sam was already gone. He should have been a ninja.

"What's up, Jimmy?" he asked, hoping that his roommate's presence would calm him down slightly.

"I…" Jimmy hesitated. He looked exhausted from the three hours (and that was being generous) of sleep he'd gotten the previous night. "Are you all right?"

_A demon has control over the medication I take every day, no big. _"I'm fine, kid. What's your problem? You look twitchy."

Jimmy shook his head, bringing one hand up to his temple. "I… my father's coming for visiting hours tonight. I think Cas is going to try to, you know… be the one who deals with him, instead of me."

Unsure where Jimmy was going with this, Dean prompted, "Okay…?"

His boyish face reddened slightly. "I just – would you mind hanging around in case he does? Cas, um… my dad thinks… that just because I have Castiel chilling out in my head, I'm completely incapable of making my own decisions. Or thinking for myself. Or… well, anything."

"Not a real open-minded dude, then? Come on, walk with me, I can't just stand around out here." Not while Alistair's door was still visible. He took Jimmy by the burn-free arm and started towards the atrium. "Don't worry, I'll look out for you. Sammy and me don't get visitors, I'm never busy. So, what therapy group are you in?"

Jimmy blinked at the change of subject. His eyes seemed to sparkle with a kind of melancholy innocence, whereas Castiel's absorbed light and held it there. Each was pretty in its own way; it didn't seem to matter who was behind them, Dean kept getting lost in those eyes. "They said I'm in, uh… B."

"Figures they'd put you in mine," said Dean, grinning. "We have art therapy in twenty minutes, in that case. What's the rest of your day like?"

"They said I have a consultation with my treatment team after lunch, then I have my first psychiatry appointment, then individual therapy, and then just visiting hours."

Dean nodded, his every bone shivering at the thought of Jimmy alone in a closed office with Alistair. Cas could handle himself, but he doubted Jimmy could. He tried to think of a way to warn Jimmy without scaring the hell out of him, but a snarling series of barks rang through the hallway, making Dean's heart stop, and a leathery, forked tail disappeared around the corner.

"Dean-?"

He grabbed Jimmy's arm and planted himself in front of him. "Stay behind me, these thing'll kill you!"

"Dean, what-?"

From behind them came a low growl. Dean whirled, manhandling Jimmy around with him, only to come face-to-face with the grotesque, mad-eyed beast, its fangs and claws and the head that reached his elbow blowing putrid breath into his face-

"Nurse!" called Jimmy timidly. "S-someone?"

Footsteps hustled out of the nurses' station. "Dean," said Anna. She knew better than to touch him, but placed herself directly beside the hellhound. It turned to her, growling louder.

"Run, Anna!" Dean roared.

"Dean, you have to listen to me. There is nothing there."

"You're practically on top of it, _run!"_ Dean himself dared not run; it would catch him in half a leap.

"Dean," repeated Anna. "I want you to look at me."

No, he couldn't break eye contact or it would attack. "I can't," he nearly whimpered.

"Look at me," insisted Anna. "Just turn your eyes to me. It's all right. Jimmy, sweetie, do me a favor and go to group, okay? You're in the music room."

"S—sure," said Jimmy. He sounded scared, but that didn't make sense; he couldn't see the hellhound, not when it had come for Dean.

"_Dean."_ Anna's voice was firm as she returned her attention to him. "Listen to me. I want you to follow me, okay? We're going to take a walk and you're going to take an as-needed. Just like you and Ellen talked about. Okay?"

"Okay," Dean ground out. He couldn't take his eyes off the thing. It bared its mouthful of fangs, letting out a low, ugly growl that filled the air with vibrations and made him want to bolt as far away as he could get. Anna took his arm in a grip that was firm, but forgiving, putting pressure on it in her own direction in a motion that was not insistent enough to be considered pulling.

"Come on," she prompted him gently. "Come on, Dean."


End file.
